


‘Screw’d To My Memory’

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [60]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Bad Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, bad memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: The storm starts after dinner and doesn’t rise high until after midnight.





	1. Chapter 1

It doesn’t occur to Geordie until the first bad weather at Ardalanish that this would be the first time Sidney’s seen him during a storm. 

Cathy has long been inured to his mood during bad weather -- she knows when he needs company and when he’s better left to himself. Better, she knows when to keep the girls away from him. Caro doesn’t even need to ask the question any more; she just claps him on the shoulder and fills a glass for him. 

The storm starts after dinner and doesn’t rise high until after midnight.

By then, Sidney is soundly asleep, warm and relaxed under the blankets, one hand thrust under his pillow and the other loose by Geordie’s shoulder. It had been on Geordie’s shoulder until Sidney fell properly asleep and Geordie shifted at the first strong gust of wind. 

Now he’s fully awake, lying straight and flat under the bedclothes, hands clasped over his ribs, looking up into the darkness. If he were alone, he’d turn the light back on so he could at least see the ceiling he’s staring towards -- but he doesn’t want to wake Sidney or worry either of the women in the next room.

He can hear the wind moaning in the grove of trees behind the cottage and then it comes, the _slap_ of the wind against the side of the house, hard enough to rattle the doors and make the window jar. It feels almost as though the wind has struck _him_ even though he knows -- he _knows_ \-- that’s ridiculous. He’s inside thick walls, fastened windows, beneath warm blankets--

‘Geordie?’

He starts before he can help himself, starting away from Sidney’s voice without thinking. The wind slams against the side of the house again, bringing a handful of rain with it this time, and Geordie squeezes his eyes shut, breath catching painfully in his throat.

‘Geordie.’

Geordie tries to say something, tries to make his voice work, but he can’t say anything; even if he could, his voice would be lost in the storm and all he can hear is the wind and rain outside even though he knows it can’t be that loud and it certainly wouldn’t be warm if he stepped out into it--

‘Geordie.’ The bed shifts and the light snaps on; Geordie throws his arm over his eyes before he can think, curling over onto his side away from the brightness. Something rattles outside, a loose bit of wood perhaps, and he freezes.

Through the steady thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, he hears Sidney mutter something and the bed shifts again; before he can pull himself together enough to make his voice work, Sidney has pressed himself against Geordie’s back, working an arm under Geordie’s shoulders and pressing the other over his ribs, wrapping Geordie in solid warmth and the reassuring smell of Sidney’s body. 

Geordie closes his hands around Sidney’s, his grip so tight he’s sure he must be hurting but Sidney doesn’t say anything and Geordie can’t seem to make his fingers relax. ‘It's all right.’

‘It isn’t -- it isn’t, I --’ The wind roars through the trees again and, just for a minute, Geordie can hear the boom of the surf beyond that and he’d swear he can smell that sweet, heavy smell that came from those damned red flowers crushed by the hurricane. They’d been everywhere and stained everything, worse than blood, as if there hadn’t been enough of that.

‘It’s all right, Geordie,’ Sidney repeats and all Geordie can do is squeeze his eyes shut more tightly and shake his head. The storm, the wind, they all pull something tight inside his chest, something he can’t control, can’t talk himself out of, and he can barely breathe past it, it pulls so tight-- 

‘It’s _all right.’_

‘It isn’t, it isn’t, oh, God, it isn’t, Sidney, you don’t -- you haven’t seen it, it just -- it just _tears_ everything and you can’t, there’s nothing you can do, you can’t do _anything,_ it just -- it just goes straight _through_ and--’ Geordie stops, _makes_ himself stop; if he lets himself keep going, that tight thing in his chest will break and God only knows what will come out and--

Sidney shifts and it takes a moment for Geordie to realise he’s being eased gently back so Sidney can cradle him more securely, draping one of his legs over Geordie’s thighs, wrapping his arm more firmly over Geordie’s belly. 

Geordie’s distantly aware that he’s shaking, muscles drawn so tight that he’s trembling against Sidney. The wind slaps the back of the house and Geordie hears himself cry out -- when he comes back to himself, he’s twisted around, face buried against Sidney’s chest, and Sidney’s talking to him, voice low.

‘...I promise you, it’s a storm, just a storm, you should have said, you should have told me, I would’ve stayed awake…’

Geordie’s distantly aware that he’s crying and drags one hand up to try and wipe his face dry. ‘It’s -- it’s not -- there's nothing you --’

‘I wouldn’t have left you alone.’ 

‘I wasn’t -- you were right here,’ Geordie protests weakly. 

Sidney ignores this as the nonsense it is. ‘Do you...do you want to tell me?’ As he speaks, one of his hands comes up to cup the back of Geordie’s head, his fingers feathering against Geordie’s scalp. Geordie freezes again and, before he can say anything, Sidney nods. ‘Never mind. Just --’ He strokes down over the back of Geordie's neck. ‘--just stay with me.’


	2. Chapter 2

‘’s stupid anyway,’ Geordie mutters after awhile, his voice half lost between Sidney’s shoulder and the pillow.

‘What is?’ Sidney keeps running his hand over Geordie’s shoulders.

Geordie shifts uncomfortably. ‘Scared of a few raindrops.’

Sidney lets his head rest back against the wall for a moment and looks up at the ceiling. He keeps his hand moving over Geordie’s shoulder, the back of his neck, combs his fingers briefly through Geordie’s hair. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been awake -- he doesn’t want to dislodge Geordie by moving to look at the clock on his bedside table. The storm has settled down into a steady rumble outside; he can hear rain streaming along the gutter above the window and an occasional spatter against the window itself but the wind has stopped gusting and the tension is slowly leaching out of Geordie’s body.

‘I hate the smell of pine,’ Sidney finally says conversationally.

Geordie lifts his head and peers at him. ‘You what?’

‘Pine. I hate it.’

‘But--the church--every Christmas--’

Sidney nods. ‘I couldn’t eat before the first Christmas sermon I ever gave. Had to be sick afterwards anyway.’ He shakes his head. ‘That church was almost wall to wall fir -- you could hardly see the stone.’

‘But--’

‘Haven’t you noticed? I get them to hold off on the evergreens as long as I can. Didn’t say no when they asked if I was allergic, isn’t holly nicer anyway with the berries, green branches make such a mess when the needles drop...’ Sidney shrugs the shoulder Geordie isn’t lying on. ‘It's not rain but it’s about as silly.’

‘Sidney--’ Geordie plants his hand on the mattress between them and pushes himself up so he can look into Sidney’s face. ‘Love, it’s completely different--’

‘How?’

‘Well--it--’ Geordie lets himself curl back on Sidney’s shoulder and Sidney can almost hear him thinking.

He nods and tightens his arm around Geordie’s shoulder. ‘Exactly. So I won’t have you calling yourself stupid either.’

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [_Cymbeline_](https://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=cymbeline&Act=2&Scene=2&Scope=scene&LineHighlight=933#933).


End file.
